


The Squeaky Wheel

by the_rogue_bitch



Series: The Selkirk Grace [3]
Category: Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years
Genre: Call bumbles his way through feels what are those, Confessions, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Heterosexuality, Massage, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...gets the most grease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Squeaky Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even a little bit sorry about this one.
> 
> Much love to [tryxchange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tryxchange/pseuds/tryxchange) for support and encouragement.

Sometimes I forgot that I was not a very large person. My interactions with people were limited and sparse, and I had no one to scale myself to on a regular basis. Anyone would think my Percherons were big, regardless of their relative size, anyway. 

I led Castor and Pollux into the barn, weary to the bone and aching in every muscle. It was spring, the ground was hard and difficult to plow, and my enormous horses had gotten an attack of friskiness that I thought would separate me right down the middle.

I'd read somewhere once that chariot drivers often had a line of scarring down their spines, the result of controlling and being pulled by four galloping horses. Today I felt very much like a charioteer.

As I led Castor into his stall, he decided to rear, lifting me completely off the ground by my grip on his bridle. At my surprised shout, and punch on his shoulder, he landed and gave me an embarrassed look.

"You keep that up and I'll groom you hobbled, you big stupid animal," I muttered. 

He stood meekly as I brushed him down and fed and watered him, then attended to Pollux. Pollux was much too interested in food to indulge in any hijinks.

After Pollux, it was the cows and the pigs and the geese. I tended to them in a haze of fatigue, wanting only food, a bath, and my bed.

I dragged myself into the house, poured myself some milk and put some bacon in a biscuit. It revived me enough that I could summon up the energy to bring the tub inside, fill it, and shed my clothes.

I groaned aloud as I sank into the water. I ached all over. Even the muscles in my feet hurt. From top to toe, it didn't feel as if there was an ounce of flesh left unabused in some way. My head throbbed as if someone had been pulling my hair all day.

Outside, I heard a horse gallop up, stop, and the jingle of a man dismounting. Saddlebags hit the porch with a thump and I heard the horse being led to the barn. It was probably Call. If it wasn't, I couldn't be bothered to defend myself. Any bandits could administer the coûp de grâce to my already lifeless body.

I wasn't interested in a roll in the hay, either. Sleep was my main desire.

I didn't hurry through my soak, but Call hadn't put in an appearance by the time I reluctantly heaved myself out of the tub, dried off, and put on a robe. I dumped the tub and refilled it, then sprawled in my chair with some cookies and milk.  
The door opened and Call came in, looking as tired as I felt.

"Aden," he said, by way of a greeting.

"You look like hammered shit, Call," I replied.

"Exactly how I feel, too," Call stated, moving into the light.

"My God, you're filthy. What've you been doing?"

"Working," Call stretched his shoulders and grimaced. "I'm real tired."

"Get in the tub. If you're nice to me I might even rub your back with some salve I made."

"Too tired for a bath," Call replied, as if that statement was reason enough to let him sleep with me in his begrimed state.

"I won't rub your back when you're that dirty," I objected.

"How about if I wash my feet and you just rub them?" Call had a wicked look on his face. I got up, advancing on him.

"I may look tired, but I promise if you don't get in that tub right now, I'll throw you in."

Call grinned slightly. "Offer like that might even make the bath worthwhile."

I snorted. Call pulled off his boots and stripped with alacrity.

"Should we have a bonfire for those?" I indicated the pile of befouled clothing. He shot me a look just as dirty as he settled in the tub. I reclined on the chaise and sleepily watched as he briskly washed himself.

"You're getting good at that," I observed.

"All the practice I get, coming to see you," Call replied.

"None of your sass, cowboy," I said, grinning. Call didn't reply, but I saw his slight smile.

"Of course, you could always go to Twyla's if all you want's a poke with no requirements of civility," I ruminated aloud. Call chuckled.

"Maybe I like the requirements of civility," he said after he washed and rinsed his hair. "Least you _always_ make it worth my while."

I snickered in a most unladylike way. I got slowly to my feet and went to the root cellar, where I got a jar of lavender and sage salve. When I came back to the living room, Call was roughly toweling himself off. I was so tired I didn't even drink in the sight of him naked in the firelight. He was just a body.

"I have salve for your back. Where do you want to do this?"

"Bedroom? Then we don't have to move too far." Call wrapped the towel around his waist and followed me to my room. I lit one lamp, deliberately keeping the light low.

"Take off the towel and lay on the bed face down," I said, remembering a book of Oriental medicine my brother Admetus had shown me once. He was a merchant and had delighted in showing me all the items he’d acquired in his travels when I visited him. 

I shucked my robe and clambered onto the bed, naked.

"You sure about this?" Call's voice was muffled.

"Yep. Besides, the view's nice," I replied. In return, Call shot me a baleful look over his shoulder.

Call's backside was a marvel of well-muscled countryside, from his fine broad shoulders, down his back, with its random scars, his posterior, and well-muscled legs. Not a bit of him was more hairy than it needed to be, in my opinion. Just lovely dark gold hair, evenly distributed over limbs and torso.

"This the part where I'm supposed to relax?" Call asked, startling me out of my reverie.

"Oh, sorry," I scooped some salve onto my fingertips and warmed it up. I reclined on my side and started rubbing Call's back one-handed. It was awkward, and didn’t seem like it would be very helpful.

"Do you mind if I -- sit on you? It'd work better."

"Mmph," Call said, face in the pillows.

"What?"

"Mm -- no, go ahead." he replied, turning his head. I kneeled up and straddled Call's butt. Leaning forward, I stroked my begreased hands down his spine.

"Where does it hurt?" I asked. Call shifted and looked over his shoulder at me.

"Everywhere." 

"Oh, well, that's specific." I stroked his backbone meditatively.

"That feels good. Maybe a little bit harder?"

I did so. The salve, warmed by the friction of my hands on Call's skin, spread the scent of lavender and sage around us in a fragrant cloud.

I closed my eyes and felt Call's back with my fingertips. I could almost see the topography of his skin with my hands. Here was a puckered scar, either a bullethole or some other puncture. And here, the sharp angle of his shoulder blade. And here --

"Ahh..." Call groaned. A large knot at the base of his neck was under my hand.

"Heavens. How did this happen?" I asked softly, kneading it firmly.

"Don't know. But whatever you're doing feels great," Call wriggled a little beneath me. I'd forgotten I was naked, but my thighs were growing slick with sweat.

The muscles eased under my ministrations. I slid my hands down, felt the striation of his muscles, which guided me to his ribs.

"You are too damned scrawny, Call," I stroked his sides gently.

"From eating my own cooking, on the trail," he replied.

"You should eat here more often, then," I murmured, trailing my fingers up to his shoulders. He had a classic cowboy's tan, brown hands, face, neck and upper chest, where his shirt stood open. The rest was milk-pale in comparison. I got some more salve on my hands and worked on his left arm.

I felt at once a curious detachment from Call's body, an objective admiration for its construction and workings and resilience, and an intense personal fondness for it. I leaned forward and lay atop Call's back, snuggling myself into him.

"Mm," Call said quietly. "This part of that massage?”

"It is now," I whispered, finding his ear close to my mouth. He shivered. I slid my hand down his right arm. With slippery fingers I manipulated his hand and his fingers.

I realized I was drifting off to sleep and struggled upright. Call grunted, obviously drowsing.

"Let me do your legs, and then you can do me," I said, sitting next to him and dipping into the jar. I held one leg in my lap and rubbed firmly downward, then did the same to the other one. When both were done, I scooted down and placed his feet in my lap.

Call had tough feet. They were callused and scarred, just like the rest of him, but least they were clean. I smoothed the salve into them, pressing my thumbs into the skin.

"Oh...oh God!" Call exclaimed. I dropped his foot.

"What? Did I hurt you?"

"No. No, Aden. That felt real good. Don't stop."

I picked up his foot again. As I massaged it, concentrating on the arch and the ball and his toes, he groaned aloud, louder than I'd ever heard him. He gripped the bedclothes, taking deep breaths. 

"All done," I finished his feet, and he rolled over, looking both relaxed and aroused.

“Oh,” I said in some surprise. “I guess you really did like it.”

"Your turn," was all he said as he pulled me down next to him. He traced my cheekbone gently and guided my mouth to his in the most gentle yet thorough and stirring kiss he'd ever given me. "Let me try it."

I happily rolled over onto my stomach, blood warmed by his kiss. He straddled my hips and sat on my butt and I felt his hardness atop the rise where my back met my bottom. I lay in the warm depression that Call had recently occupied, feeling cupped by it.

"Am I too heavy?"

"Mmm, no, you're all right."

Call started rubbing my back, almost chafing the skin. It was much too brisk.

"Call, you're hurting me. Remember how I touched you? Touch me like that."

"Sorry," Call said. "Guess I got carried away."

"Be gentle. _Feel_ where the muscles hurt," I rested my forehead on the pillows and felt Call start again.

His slippery thumbs traced down either side of my spine, pressing firmly. I expelled a long sigh of relaxation. Call reached the bottom of my back and guided his hands up either side of my chest, along my ribcage. He followed the contours of my ribs, outlining them with each digit. He worked his way up the to the sensitive area where my breasts met my body and followed the curves of my shoulder blades.

I was limp as a wet dishrag. Call was very good at this. I realized I was drooling slightly and rubbed my mouth on the pillow, glad Call hadn't seen it. Turning my head, I asked, "You sure you haven't done this before?"

"Never."

"You're pretty good for an amateur."

"I like touching you." 

The very simplicity of his words moved me so much I couldn't say anything in response. It would cheapen the sentiment, which was rare and unlooked-for.

Call moved his hands to the muscles of my shoulders and neck, which were tight with strain. He stroked and smoothed them like crumpled paper and I let out a moan of relief.

I felt Call get off my bottom and kneel next to me. Then his hands were on my posterior. I yelped in surprise.

"Easy," Call said, voice low and soothing. I had no idea that my fundament would need attention, but apparently it did. He massaged there and stroked down my legs. The feel of his salve-coated fingers gliding down my thighs was indescribable.

"God, Call," I sighed.

"Yeah?"

"Don't stop. This is wonderful."

"Wait until I do your feet."

Saying this, he shifted and put my feet into his lap. I could feel him get more salve on his hands. And then -- _oh_.

It was like being drenched in a blood-warm waterfall. My knees went weak. Everything below my neck turned to liquid. I felt every part of me collapse and open. I dug my fingers into the quilt in almost the same spot Call had, and moaned out loud.

"See?"

"Oh, yes. Are you done?"

In answer, Call moved up on the bed next to me. I rolled over to face him and put my leg between his thighs so we could dovetail together. He kissed my nose and my forehead.

"Oh, Call," I sighed regretfully. "I'm too tired to make love."

"We don’t have to. This is fine."

I leaned over and blew out the lamp, then snuggled back up with Call, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Call?" I spoke as I was drifting off to sleep.

"Yeah?"

"That your last or first name?" My voice was slow, my tongue heavy.

"My mother named me Newt," Call said softly.

"Oh. Good night, Newt," I said dreamily.

"Good night, Aden," Call whispered, giving me a brief squeeze.

I fell asleep that way, with the feel of his arms around me, and the scent of lavender and sage surrounding us.


End file.
